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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487688">A Keeper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitherwaywill/pseuds/whitherwaywill'>whitherwaywill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Fred Weasley Lives, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Proposals, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, just enjoy the ride :), no substance remember?, theres no substance just fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:55:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitherwaywill/pseuds/whitherwaywill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Pansy and Ron find their own happy ever after. Completely by accident, of course, and not at all on purpose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini (mentioned), Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The Obligatory Who's Doing What Prologue Just Because I Don't Care Enough To Actually Write All of This Out At the Moment.</p><p>this is absolutely based on a hp meme i saw ages ago. please expect short chapters and general hijinks, with a dash of romantic angst sifted in there somewhere :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>May 2, 1998 – May 2, 1999</strong>
</p><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p><p>It really was ridiculous how quickly prejudices disappeared after the war was over.</p><p>Voldemort was dead. All of the Death Eaters, with the exception of Draco Malfoy, were imprisoned in Azkaban, with no chance of parole.</p><p>And having faced the obvious villains in battle, house prejudices and schoolyard rivalries were set aside as the graduating seventh years of Hogwarts prepared to face their biggest challenge: The rest of their lives.</p><p>Harry and Ron opted not to redo their seventh year, instead taking their NEWTs through the Ministry. Harry was put on the fast track to become an Auror. Ron, however, was quite done fighting dark wizards, and decided to take on another job: assistant at Fred and George’s Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.</p><p>Fred and George themselves were happily cohabiting a flat in Diagon Alley, paying the neighbors to stave off complaints about the explosions that inevitably shook the building at four o’clock in the morning. Angelina and Daphne, Fred and George’s respective romantic partners, each stayed the night at the boys’ place half the time and at the flat they had bought for themselves to share the other half.</p><p>Ginny married Harry straight out of Hogwarts, and began to run a potions lab from the basement of Grimmauld Place. St. Mungo’s came to rely on her specialty potions.</p><p>The Burrow was still the hub of the clan, with Mrs. Weasley paying visits to her children every so often to terrorize them into domestic compliance, and brunch every Sunday. </p><p>When Narcissa joined Hermione’s Committee for the Equal Treatment of All Beings, the two became fast friends. Narcissa introduced Hermione to Astoria Greengrass, Draco’s fiancé, and the friendship that blossomed rivaled that of Daphne and Ginny’s. After some time, Hermione made her peace with Draco, and was one of Astoria’s bridesmaids at her wedding.</p><p>And at the Malfoy-Greengrass wedding, Hermione was introduced to Blaise Zabini. After a whirlwind romance, he whisked his new wife off to see the world. A year later, Hermione was pregnant, and neither of them had any immediate plans to return to England.</p><p>Within the small circle of those who had any connection whatsoever to the Weasleys, everything was beginning to look up by the time the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts rolled around.</p><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ron Makes a Bad Investment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>i. e., cannons</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>3 May 1999</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ron’s Home</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(or the apartment he used to share with his ex)</strong>
</p><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p><p>“I don’t know about this, Ginny, you know he was out drinking last night – what if he brought a girl home?”</p><p>“Oh, poo.” A very pregnant Ginevra Potter pushed her husband’s concerns aside as she brushed off her dress. Floo travel was very messy, and it was obvious Ron hadn’t cleaned his fireplace in a while.  “Ron hasn’t been able to get a date since Hermione dumped him for Blaise Zabini. Who’s a catch, by the way. I don’t blame her for it.”</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks, beloved wife.”</p><p>Ginny laughed. “You know it.” She smiled at Harry and took his hand as they ventured deeper into the apartment.</p><p>“Merlin,” Harry swore. “What on earth is that smell?” It was indeed a stench to be remembered – a mix of mouldy cheese, old pizza, and stale alcohol.</p><p>“I expect it’s Ron,” Ginny said. “Follow the smell.”</p><p>She plowed forward, dragging a recalcitrant Harry behind her. <em>“Follow </em>the smell?” he griped. “Don’t you think we should be walking in the <em>opposite direction </em>of the smell? Running, even?”</p><p>“Which door leads to his room?” Ginny asked, ignoring her husband.</p><p>“Um…the one on the right?”</p><p>“Perfect.” Ginny blithely led the way into the room, shoving the door open and flicking the muggle lights (courtesy of Hermione) on. “Rise and shine, brother!”</p><p>“GINNY!” Ron bellowed at a surprising volume for his current, half-awake state. “BLOODY HELL!”</p><p>“It’s eleven o’clock, Ron, on a Monday. You’re <em>very </em>late for work.”</p><p>“I work for the twins,” Ron mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes blearily. “Do you <em>really </em>think the shop’s going to be open, today of all days?”</p><p>The three of them stared off into space for a few moments.</p><p>“No, I suppose not,” Harry muttered softly. “But maybe – you could go cheer them up? I’m sure they’re both remembering Lee, and – “</p><p>As Harry spoke, Ron’s attention was suddenly drawn to the piece of paper in his hand. He wasn’t feeling very kindly toward it; when he rubbed his eyes, it had scratched him. He was pretty sure he had a paper cut above his eyebrow. He was just about to tear it up when the phrase “<em>legal and binding” </em>caught his eye.</p><p>A chill of fear scampered down his spine. He wracked his brains, trying to think…what did he do last night? He couldn’t have gotten married, could he? And – who would he even have gotten married to?</p><p>Steeling himself, he unfolded the paper and took a peek.</p><p>“OH MY GOD!” Ron exploded upon reading it.</p><p>“…and I’m sure the presence of a brother would be – Ron? Are you okay?” Harry glanced quizzically at his friend.</p><p>“I think he’s having a fit,” Ginny said curiously, laboriously bending on her knees to look at Ron’s face.</p><p>“What? Merlin – no – should we call an ambulance? Or St. Mungo’s? Does St. Mungo’s have an ambulance?”</p><p>“No, Harry I love you but you just use the floo. It’s faster anyway…”</p><p>Ron was still staring at the piece of parchment in his hands.</p><p>“Ron?” Ginny said. “Earth to Ronniekins.”</p><p>He looked up at his sister, a blank look on his face.</p><p>“Are you okay, mate?” Harry asked, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder.</p><p>Ron turned to look at his friend with wide blue eyes. “I think,” he swallowed, “I think I bought the Chudley Cannons.”</p><p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>how did he pay for it, you may ask. the answer is... i don't know. maybe the ministry gave him vaults and vaults of galleons in gratitude. or maybe fred and george just pay really well. or maybe the chudley cannons only cost a few galleons because they're such a shit team and their managers really wanted out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Ron Overestimates His Tolerance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is a fic of easily misinterpreted but mostly self explanatory chapter titles.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>2 May 2000</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Snitches and Broomsticks, Diagon Alley</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</strong>
</p>
<p>It was an uncomfortably wet night. It wasn’t raining…more like, it was misting. Not distinctive enough for it to be rain, but just wet enough for Pansy to quickly feel soggy. The door to the pub jangled as she pushed it open and walked in, a cacophony of noise greeting her. She stomped her feet as much as she could in stilettos, trying to get the drops of water off of them.</p>
<p>While the Leaky Cauldron was definitely the most popular pub in Diagon Alley, it was hardly the only one. This particular pub was new, opened just after the end of the Second Wizarding War. Although it was on the very edge of Diagon Alley, almost in Knockturn, it had quickly become popular among quidditch fanatics and professional players, alike.</p>
<p>As she stalked toward the bar, the regulars greeted her with a smile and a wave, no matter that she never responded. Pansy had been visiting this bar every Saturday night ever since she stumbled across it one miserable night in May. She dumped her bag and her coat down on the bar, and raised an eyebrow at the bartender.</p>
<p>Thaimus grinned and rolled his eyes. “Good evening to you too, Miss Parkinson.” He turned and began to prepare her usual. By now, he was used to Pansy Parkinson’s particular brand of prickly defensiveness. “And how might this fine evening find you?”</p>
<p>“It’s wet,” Pansy grumped. “And miserable. As usual.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Thaimus replied, sliding her drink across the bar to her. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”</p>
<p>“You know me,” Pansy sighed, bringing the glass to her lips. “A person of habit.”</p>
<p>Slowly sipping, she scanned the establishment.</p>
<p>“Looking for a new victim?” Thaimus grinned. “Whatever happened to the last one?”</p>
<p>“He serves me my drinks,” Pansy deadpanned.</p>
<p>Thaimus smirked. “Sorry, Pans,” he said. “I wanted to let you down easy, but you know I’m not one for the ladies.”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Pansy mumbled into her glass.</p>
<p>“Now, if you’re looking for a good time,” Thaimus advised, leaning over the bar. “I’d go for the team that just won their tenth game in a row.” He pointed towards the rowdy group in the corner. Pansy wrinkled her nose, recognizing all the signs of a professional team. The beers, the jerseys not yet shed, the groupies hanging off their arms…she shook her head.</p>
<p>“Not my type,” she said firmly. “You know I don’t do tabloids.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Thaimus’ grin was far to knowing as he gestured behind him. “That one sure thinks you do.”</p>
<p>Pansy whipped back around, her gaze searching. Sure enough, one of the quidditch players in the corner had taken her appraisal as an invitation. That part wasn’t a surprise. They all had an over-inflated opinion of themselves.</p>
<p>The surprise was that it was Ron Weasley.</p>
<p>He swaggered toward her with a beer in one hand and his wand holstered to his hip, a grin on his face as he slid onto the bar stool next to her.</p>
<p>Thaimus smirked and winked, tactfully retreating to the other end of the bar.</p>
<p>“Pansy Parkinson,” Ron said, leaning a head on a hand. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”</p>
<p>“Nice girl?” Pansy snorted. “Sure. Have you miraculously forgotten the bit where I attempted to turn over Harry Potter to the Dark Lord myself?”</p>
<p>Ron’s smile faded a watt. “C’mon,” he leered. “Bygones be bygones. We’re both young, reasonably attractive, and you seem lonely…”</p>
<p>Pansy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Tell you what, Weasley. You buy me the shots. If you can drink me under the table, I’ll go home with you.”</p>
<p>Ron frowned. “Doesn’t seem gentlemanly, but I will take you up on that deal…except instead of going home with you tonight, I want you to go on a date with me tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Pansy sighed. “Fine.”</p>
<p>“Bartender!” Ron waved Thaimus over from where he had retreated to watch the show. “Four shots of your finest firewhiskey, please.”</p>
<p>Pansy laughed. “It’s going to take a lot more than that, Weasley.”</p>
<p>Ron smirked at her. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”</p>
<p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
<p>“Where’re we?”</p>
<p>Pansy huffed, and she barely refrained from rolling her eyes. As she had predicted, Weasley had been three sheets to the wind only six shots in. And of course, being the one he had been drinking with, it fell to her to take him home.</p>
<p>Thaimus had laughed at her as she pulled Ron off the stool, and she had cursed him for not having rooms, like the Leaky Cauldron did. A low blow, to be sure, but here she was, Ronald Weasley slung over her shoulder, staggering down Diagon Alley.</p>
<p>Pansy had never been to the Weasley family home, and didn’t feel she would be welcome there, even to drop off the prodigal son. She had no idea where Ron lived, and had no access to Harry Potter’s home. So, she was left with the last of her options: the shop the twin Weasleys lived above.</p>
<p>“Y’know, yer awful pre – pretty,” Ron slurred. Pansy groaned. Seeing the joke shop just ahead, she apparated the last hundred yards, until she was standing outside the door that led to the living quarters. Raising a hand, she banged on the door.</p>
<p>It flew open seconds later, almost as if they had been waiting for the knock. One of the Weasley twins was silhouetted in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Parkinson.”</p>
<p>Pansy squinted at the redhead in the doorway, taking in his defensive stance. His magenta robes were covered in some sort of slime, and she didn’t even want to guess what they had been experimenting with. His hair covered his ears, so she could only guess as to which twin it was.</p>
<p>“Mr. Weasley,” she opted to greet him as instead. “Your brother is drunk.”</p>
<p>“Am not,” Ron mumbled, his head lolling against Pansy’s shoulder as she stood there stiffly, a determined look on her face as she propped him up. “I – hic – bought the drinks.”</p>
<p>The twin raised an eyebrow. “He <em>is </em>pissed,” he noted.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Pansy glared. Quick as a flash, a smile darted across the twin’s face.</p>
<p>“George!” He turned and hollered into the flat. “Ronnie’s brought trouble to our doorstep!”</p>
<p>Pulling out her best Slytherin sneer, Pansy unwound Ron’s arm from her shoulder and shoved him toward his brother. “I think we’re done here.” She turned to leave.</p>
<p>“Wait!” Ron slurred. She swiveled back around. This time, she was the one to raise an eyebrow. His eyes were barely open, but they were looking directly at her. “When can I see you again?”</p>
<p>Pansy’s shoulders tightened minutely. He’s drunk, she told herself. He barely knows who he is, let alone who I am… “Thursday,” she replied blithely. “I’m done volunteering at four. You can pick me up.”</p>
<p>Then she turned her back on the Weasley’s flat and left, her heels clicking decisively down the stairs.</p>
<p>After all, Ron Weasley was properly pissed. There was no way he’d remember the date he asked for by tomorrow morning.</p>
<p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Pansy cast a renewing Sober-up charm on herself. She's smart. Ron's a darling, but he got drunk. Also, the Cannons are improbably successful. Shall we find out why?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Pansy Underestimates Ron</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>4 May 2000</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Cleo’s Café and Ice Cream Parlor</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</strong>
</p>
<p>“Pansy – we’re running low on vanilla spice cream flavouring, could you be a dear and write it up for me?”</p>
<p>Pansy nodded, taking off the plastic gloves she had been using to serve ice cream and wiping the chocolate off of one wrist.</p>
<p>“I’m off – it’s two after four,” she called back to her co-worker, Mathilda. The girl was three years younger than her, still a kid in school, yet she had already been working at the café for two years before Pansy arrived, as her aunt Cleo was the owner.</p>
<p>“Okay!” Mathilda smiled, pressing the lid onto a coffee cup. “Write it up on your way out?”</p>
<p>“I was planning on it,” Pansy replied. “See you Monday.”</p>
<p>Sighing, she made her way to the back, pausing in the doorway to write up “vanilla spice cream coffee flavouring” on the whiteboard hanging just inside. Pansy kept moving to her cubby, pulling out her purse. She went through her routine check through, making sure she still had her wand and her wallet inside, then took off her apron and tossed it into the laundry basket. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small mirror compact, checking to make sure she didn’t have any remnants of anything on her face.</p>
<p>“Er – Pansy?” Her ‘after work’ ritual was interrupted by Mathilda, hovering in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“There’s a man outside, asking for you…”</p>
<p>Pansy raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t think of a single person who would come to her workplace and ask for her… “Who is it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know – a customer? Anyway, I told him your shift’s over and he said he’ll just wait by the counter for you to come out.”</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Pansy groaned. “Just what I needed – a muggle stalker.”</p>
<p>“What?” Mathilda blinked in confusion.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Pansy mumbled, snapping her compact shut and shoving it in her purse. “Tell him I’m coming out.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Mathilda said, relieved, escaping to the relative safety of her counter. Pansy put on her meanest bitch-face, then followed her co-worker out.</p>
<p>She almost dropped her back when she saw who was waiting.</p>
<p>Ronald Weasley, Asshat Extraordinaire, smirked as he leaned against the counter, floppy red hear smoothed to the side.</p>
<p>Pansy dropped her purse. Pinching her lips together, she snatched it back up and stalked over to Ron. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.</p>
<p>“You said to pick you up,” he responded. “Thursday, right?”</p>
<p>“How did you know where I volunteer?”</p>
<p>His eyebrows squinched together, but his grin didn’t leave his face. “Well, it did take some doing, seeing as I expected to find you at a place like a soup kitchen, not an actual <em>job</em> – “</p>
<p>“I don’t have a job. Purebloods don’t have jobs. This is a hobby. I <em>volunteer – “</em></p>
<p>“– but as you may know, I’m not one to give up easily – “</p>
<p>“Damn right you don’t, did it not occur to you that I didn’t tell you where I wor – <em>volunteer</em>, on purpose?”</p>
<p>Ron stopped talking to smirk at her. “Of course it did,” he said soothingly. “I just took the fact that <em>you </em>took pity on my drunk ass and dropped me at my brother’s place to mean you don’t hate me <em>quite </em>as much as you advertise.”</p>
<p>A scowl formed on Pansy’s face, and she crossed her arms defensively. “I <em>do </em>hate you,” she said stubbornly. “Even <em>more </em>than I advertise.”</p>
<p>“See, I don’t believe that.”</p>
<p>“Really? Tell me, Weasel, why would I feel anything less than hate for a – a <em>Gryffindor</em>? The best friend of the man who, may I remind you, I tried to turn in?” Pansy’s hands were on her hips, and she had completely forgotten she was in the middle of a café.</p>
<p>Ron shook his head. “I think you’re really too stuck on that moment of your life.”</p>
<p>Pansy groaned. “Look. You hate me, I hate you. That’s the way it’s been since – since – forever, okay? So just go away, and leave me alone!” She spun on her heel and began stalking out of the shop, cursing her sensible, no-slip work shoes as she went.</p>
<p>The bell on the door clanged behind her as she exited, and a moment later, she felt Weasley’s hand on her elbow.</p>
<p>“Do you know Daphne Greengrass? Well, she’s dating George now.”</p>
<p>“And now you want your own little Slytherin partner to show you’re not into the old prejudices now? Well, look elsewhere for your trophy bride, Weasel.”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Pansy almost tripped as Ron dashed around her to stand directly in her path. She glared at him.  “Maybe you’re the one who’s so stuck on those old prejudices, Parkinson.” His sparkling blue eyes (no, of course she hadn’t noted the exact, sky blue colour of his eyes, what a <em>ridiculous </em>notion - ) were serious, a direct contrast to his previously joking demeanor.</p>
<p>“I am not,” Pansy hissed. She wasn’t. She wasn’t the one who refused to serve people based on which house they had been in. On whose side they had been on. On their past, not their present.</p>
<p>“Then prove it,” Ron challenged her. “One date. That’s all I want.”</p>
<p>They stood on the sidewalk in muggle London, silently staring at each other.</p>
<p>Pansy broke first. “Fine,” she snarled.</p>
<p>A beam lit up Ron’s face. “Good,” he said brightly. “I’ll see you tonight.”</p>
<p>With that, he jogged off into the crowds.</p>
<p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ron's persistent, I suppose. Are we OOC yet? :)))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Pansy Refrains from 'Accidentally' Spilling Her Drink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Still 4 May, 2000</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Lemoncello’s, Diagon Alley</strong>
</p>
<p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
<p>It’s not that asking Pansy Parkinson out on a date was a bad idea, per say. It’s just that it might not have been a good one.</p>
<p>Of course, it was the least opportune moment for Ron to actually start <em>thinking </em>about his major life decisions – not that one date was a major life decision – oh, who was he kidding. Every decision Ron made had dangerously life-altering consequences.</p>
<p>Like the totally rational choice he had made to go get completely, utterly soused with Fred and George on the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry, of course, had been too busy adult-ing with his then-pregnant wife (Ron’s then-pregnant sister, and Merlin, even if Ginny keeps popping out babies for the next ten years he’s going to pretend it’s some sort of magical ritual that’s doing it, not his best friend) and Hermione was gallivanting across the continent with her charming new husband.</p>
<p>Ron still wasn’t exactly sure how he managed to purchase the Chudley Cannons in the first place (he was drunk), nevertheless how he somehow managed to convince the team manager to let him play keeper, or how the team suddenly ended their decades long losing streak and catapulted themselves up to one of the best teams in the league.</p>
<p>It didn’t turn out too badly, though, because Ron didn’t really want to be an Auror, and he didn’t really like working in his brothers’ joke-shop (growing up with the twins’ pranks was enough for him), and he really did like playing Quidditch (despite the brain damage and inherent risk involved, according to Hermione). Ever since he woke up with that piece of paper in his hand, Ron decided he was going to start following his instincts.</p>
<p>Asking Pansy Parkinson out, though. That might have been a bad idea, no matter what his gut said.</p>
<p>First off: she was Pansy Parkinson, and despite the fact that Harry and Ron and Hermione were very anti-House prejudice, there was the tiny matter of her trying to turn Harry over. Which, come on. Everyone made such a big deal out of that. She was a scared little girl, what damage could she have done? And Harry turned himself in, anyway, so it was a bit of a moot point.</p>
<p>Secondly: she hadn’t shown any real signs she was interested in him. Really, Ron had felt like a bit of a stalker, tracking down her workplace. Also, it was fifteen minutes past the time they had agreed to meet up. Not that Ron was afraid of being stood up; she wouldn’t break his heart into a million pieces if she didn’t show. Ron could just enjoy a good meal, maybe flirt with the waitress a little, and pick up a chick at a bar who was reasonably impressed with his heroic background and Quidditch skills.</p>
<p>Hopefully Ginny wouldn’t show up in the floo the next morning, if he had a one night stand. She had an uncanny sense for the most inappropriate time to show up at his flat, James in tow.</p>
<p>Ron shifted in his seat.</p>
<p>He didn’t want to be stood up – more importantly, he didn’t want <em>Pansy Parkinson</em> to stand him up.</p>
<p>There was something about her. The prickly, hard shell that seemed brittle to the point of breaking when she sat alone in the bar, sneering at everyone around her. That same shell-like veneer she had put on like creaky armor when he surprised her at her volunteer job.</p>
<p>She intrigued him. And, his gut. His gut said she was a good idea.</p>
<p>Ron hadn’t had a serious relationship since Hermione, and he was tired of Ginny and Daphne’s (and even Angelina, at times) insistence in trying to set him up. He could do his own damn match-making, thanks very much.</p>
<p>Although Pansy still wasn’t here. Maybe he wasn’t as good at it as he thought.</p>
<p>Of course, it was then that Pansy pushed (more like shoved) the door to the restaurant open.</p>
<p>He was probably gaping as she approached. No, he was definitely gaping.</p>
<p>She had replaced her sensible work shoes with a pair of totally impractical mile-high heels, and a totally appropriate dress she managed to make look totally <em>in</em>appropriate.</p>
<p>If he had been standing, he would have been floored. As it was, he fell back into his chair a little.</p>
<p>“Don’t read into it, Weasley,” Pansy sneered half-heartedly, dropping into the seat across from him. “I’m here for the free food. Also, I figured I’d take advantage of your general doe-eyed muscle-y handsomeness while I can.”</p>
<p>“I…” Ron was at a loss for words. Sometime between a couple hours ago and now, Pansy had recovered the viper-like tongue he remembered from school.</p>
<p>This was going to be fun.</p>
<p>“Glad you showed,” he settled on.</p>
<p>Pansy cocked her head to the side, grinning. “Aw, were you worried I would stand you up?”</p>
<p>He coughed, focusing on his menu. “I figured you’d want the free food.”</p>
<p>She hid a grin, settling in. “What’s good here?”</p>
<p>“You mean you haven’t been?” He looked up in surprise. It was a pretty trendy restaurant, and he had figured she was one of those girls who would be on the doorstep waiting whenever a place like this opened.</p>
<p>“No,” she said tersely. Ron could practically see her putting her armor back on, piece by piece. He hadn’t even realized it was off. “Not much time for dining out.”</p>
<p>He didn’t understand her terse answer.</p>
<p>When the waitress arrived, cooing over the war hero and barely refraining from spitting on Pansy, he understood a little better.</p>
<p>Dinner was… well, it was better than Ron expected. Pansy had excellent table manners, and luckily Ron had learned some since he had graduated Hogwarts and helped defeat Voldemort and all.</p>
<p>She was a surprisingly good conversationalist, too. It must have been a part of her pureblood training, or maybe it was unique to her. Ron wasn’t sure, but he thought he might like to find out.</p>
<p>Also, she was incredibly blunt.</p>
<p>She ran down a full criticism of every aspect of his life, and while he thought he might be supposed to be offended, he couldn’t stop smiling. It was just so <em>different. </em>Most girls he went out with spewed flattery all over him, going all sparkly-eyed the minute he started to talk, and fawning all over him.</p>
<p>He <em>liked </em>her, no matter that she barely let him get a word in edgewise.</p>
<p>Not that he wanted to defend the Cannons’ poor success rate prior to his purchase, or the reporters that usually hounded him (he had managed to shrug them off for the night). It’s just… he wanted to hear her talk more about herself, and less about him.</p>
<p>Which was an odd revelation.</p>
<p>The waitress was verging on hostile by the end of the meal. Ron had an inkling that she had planned on being the one he took home that night, if his date didn’t show. The fact that his date was the fairly infamous Pansy Parkinson didn’t seem to help.</p>
<p>Ron made it a point to take Pansy’s hand when they were ordering dessert. She barely batted an eye, staring down the suddenly subdued waitress.</p>
<p>It was late by the time Pansy was sipping her heavily sugared decaf coffee, as Ron finished up their shared brownie.</p>
<p>She took a sip, sighing with what he hoped was pleasure. It had been a good night, in his opinion at least.</p>
<p>“Where are you going after this?” she asked.</p>
<p>He shrugged. He didn’t really have any plans for the night beyond “seduce Pansy Parkinson”. Or, at least have a good time with good company.</p>
<p>“Home. I would ask you back to my flat, but I don’t think you do sleepovers on the first date, do you?” Ron asked. He was joking, a little bit. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t want Parkinson to say –</p>
<p>“Ask me back to your flat.”</p>
<p>He raised his eyebrows. “Why, so you can have the satisfaction of turning me down?”</p>
<p>“So I can say yes.” Pansy raised her eyebrows right back at him, over the rim of her coffee mug.</p>
<p>He was taken aback. “Uh – want to go back to my flat?” He was already waving down the waitress, passing her enough of his hard-won galleons to cover the bill and a tip.</p>
<p>Pansy smirked at him, at his obvious eagerness. “Yes,” she said. “I haven’t been laid in too long.”</p>
<p>Ron choked on his tongue.</p>
<p>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have a very vague summary of where I want to go with this and this is the last prewritten chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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